


Long Lost Legends

by Spacewhalewriting



Series: Of Legends and Fire [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, This is all the stuff you missed, aww yeah, flashbacks will be mighty with this one, like scenes you never saw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 21:53:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17568617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacewhalewriting/pseuds/Spacewhalewriting
Summary: Scribbles from Legends and Fire, some AU and some canon (I will mark which is which)





	1. Chapter 1

_Time has come to go_   
_Pack your bags, hit the open road_   
_Our hearts just won’t die_   
_It’s the trip, keeps us alive_

_So many miles_   
_So many miles_   
_So many miles_   
_Away_

Silwen had to think of herself as Siladhriel now. It was not a separation of herself from the name her love had known her by, but an indication of death. He had left her and now she was not herself. Not the self that he had known; she was a different self that he had never had the opportunity to learn about- she herself had learned of herself only shortly before Thorin’s death and when they had spoken again she had chosen to tell him of her love rather than anything else.

The children were in their thirties by now, not yet having reached their adult stature but old enough to travel. To the eyes of men they might be teenagers just reaching for the cusp of maturity. It was hard to tell with such mixed blood what milestones they might reach and when, so she judged by their own capabilities rather than their age. Baerandwen was capable with any bladed weapon you might hand her, and under the tutelage of her mother and the Lady of Lorien Miriel was becoming a gifted witch. Truthfully, Siladhriel would not have left Lothlorien at all if she did not feel she was capable of protecting them. They would take the river upstream for many days, following it North to its source and then to the East, going around Mirkwood entirely. Even in her dislike for the king there, she disliked the forest and its darkness and spiders even more and refused to take her daughters there.

Though they were technically members of the elven court they traveled without fanfare, taking a single small white boat for the three of them and dressing in plain traveling clothes. Since coming to Lothlorien Siladhriel had availed herself of the fashions there to better blend in, but the long pale gowns that were fashionable for elf women in Lorien would draw attention in Dale and Erebor. She wanted to introduce the girls to the ancestral homeland of their blood, but she wanted to do so as an unseen traveler. She wondered if she should bring the children to Dain’s attention. In fact she slept upon it many nights; she knew little of Dain other than his hardheadedness and the lust for battle she witnessed thirty years ago. Finally she reasoned that there would be no harm in it, given that she asked for nothing. The wilds were just that, but by keeping to the river during the day and camping on the shore or on any small islands by night they avoided most ills.

The closer they came to the Grey Mountains, the more uneasy Siladhriel became. She remembered well where Gandalf had told her her birthplace was, and it was not a place safe to tread. There was no reason to go into the mountains, nor the woods, so she kept their path between them. There were no roads, and the air smelled different the more eastern they went. She had no memory of it, but it smelled familiar. Knowing her origin did little to comfort her, but knowing what she was saved her.

She slept lightly but easily, knowing that in the flatlands they would have more warning than if they were to be ambushed in the trees or the mountains. They had no reason to think their steps pursued and they were close to their destination, soon to be in civilization once more. She was even having a pleasant dream until Baerandwen’s voice came floating through; it was whispered and then all at once she was being shaken-

“ _Amme! Amme_ , don’t shout.”

She knew who it was and so did not draw the dagger under the pack she used as a pillow, sitting up to find Baerandwen, who had been taking watch, holding her by the shoulders. She touched the hands that were touching her and they were damp with sweat. “There’s a shape out there, coming from the mountains. It’s big. Maybe five of them.”

Five of what? But her children’s eyes were sharper than even hers in the dark and so Siladhriel took this statement at face value. She woke Miriel and took no time gathering their things. They abandoned the campsite and took to the wind, jogging by the moonlight. They had left at just the right moment, for it wasn’t long before Siladhriel looked back and saw moonlight reflected on blades. She tried counting them and found her eldest’s approximation to be startlingly correct. At least there seemed to be five heads. Of man or orc, it was too dark to tell. Guiding her girls by the back of their arms, she picked up her pace, running swiftly through the long grass. There was a possibility that it was a raiding party, but they might not be looking for the three of them specifically and therefore might give up if given a merry enough chase.

Dawn crept upon them and she almost looked back, but she could smell them now. Orc. She heard what they were and through her weariness pushed her daughters faster. Orc cries followed them from behind a low hill they had mounted- it had put a visual barrier between them, but they were closer than ever and suddenly Miriel tripped, her foot catching on the small burrow of an animal. Running fast, she went down hard with a cry of surprise and hit her face flat on the ground, coming up bloody. Siladhriel pushed Baerandwen in front of her to keep running and went back for her youngest; her most tender child. As she was helping her to her feet, the orcs blotted out the moon as they mounted the hill above them and Siladhriel felt terror for her children. Lifting Miriel, she pushed her behind her in the direction of safety and knowing that they were too close and she must defend her young, she stood her ground. She carried her little traveling sword still but did not draw it. Instead she twisted her head to the side and then to the other side, lifting her arms with hands slow to follow, palms up. She remembered this feeling; it was a conscious decision with unconscious action, Miriel and Baerandwen gasping and clutching each other as they watched her form contort and grow.

As the orc approached fear left her, swords upraised to strike down her weaponless figure, Siladhriel stretched her jaw open much farther than it rightly should have, revealing teeth like daggers. Fear had abandoned her for fury. A low bay escaped her mouth, turning into a roar as coils began to fill the space around her- they approached and circled but did not attack, jabbing at the dragon and jumping backwards when their prey lashed out with savage jaws. One came boldly and she punished the transgression with her jaws, snatching him in half and spitting the parts out to the side. She encircled Miriel and Baerandwen, who were standing with their eyes tightly closed and their arms around each other. They knew of their mother’s blood but had never seen a transformation such as this and it near frightened them as much as the orc had. Baerandwen had drawn her sword but it was forgotten in her hand and Miriel’s bow had been dropped upon the ground, trampled under one great scaly claw. Her nose bled freely, staining her and her sister with red under the dawn light. As the sun rose behind her Siladhriel seemed to glow white, her voice large and dark.

“Watch how your mother deals with scum.” She said. Looking at the orc from so far above, Siladhriel coiled a tight circle around her daughters and took in a deep breath. She exhaled and they were no more.

__________________________________

 

They did not talk about the orcs nor what little remained of them for the rest of the journey, the days quickly fading from gentle Spring into a sweltering summer. They saw the mountain before Dale, and Siladhriel felt her heart swell looking at it. As far as she knew, the surviving company, minus Bilbo, still lived in Erebor. She put it to herself to find and visit them. They went first into Dale; it had been rebuilt since she had last been there. Moving through the city to take in the sights and refresh their supplies, she gathered news as she went. It had after all been thirty years since she had last visited and things had changed. As Erebor had been restored, Dale also had a king again. King Bain. She remembered a glimpse of a frightened, soot stained child amidst the flames and wreckage of his city, facing Smaug as his father balanced the last black arrow on his shoulder. She hoped that he had the constitution of his father, for King Bard had clearly served the people of Laketown well. Miriel and Baerandwen had never left Lorien and so the colors and swirl of activity were rare to them and they were enchanted with every little thing they came across; Dale was once again a center of trade and goods flowed richly through the city. Dwarvish crafts, silks and brocades made by men, weapons from the mountain, street foods of every imaginable kind. They spent the day and night in Dale, renting a small room above an inn. The next morning, she had the twins buy gowns at the marketplace in the dwarvish style, for they owned no such garments and had not brought anything suitable for an audience with the king.

“ _Amme_ , why are we buying court dresses?” Miriel asked, fingering a long gold brocade. “I thought we were visiting your old friends.” Her cheeks were bright, flushed with excitement.

“Yes, but having regained the mountain under Smaug, they are important members of court.” Siladhriel answered.

“What about you? Are you an important member of court even though you’re not a dwarf?” Asked Baerandwen. She was favoring a soft green robe as she wore at home, but Siladhriel handed her a wine red dress with a full skirt and a hem embroidered with birds and fruits.

“Try this one. I don’t want to come as foreign dignitaries, I want to come as kin and we should dress as such.” She said. When she thought about it, she didn’t know.

“ _Amme_...?” Asked Miriel, noticing that she had not answered. She gave in, answering the question.

“I don’t know my standing in the court of Erebor. I am not of dwarf blood, so it’s more complicated.”

“So...where do we fit in?” asked Baerandwen. Siladhriel noticed the lost look in her eyes.

“You are my lovely daughters and your father’s daughters, and that means you will be received with great joy.”

Miriel’s eyes sparkled with excitement. Siladhriel had not neglected to tell tales and sing songs that her daughters might know of their father and the journey that had changed that part of the world forever. They loved their father as much as one could love a ghost, and wanted to know of him and his blood. Having been raised with elves in Lothlorien, they knew nothing firsthand of dwarves- all their knowledge was from books and tales. To them, this was all a grand adventure. Finally, they settled on the dark wine and gold embroidery for Miriel, whose pale skin and dark hair fit very well with the garment- Baerandwen chose a green gown with silver decoration, and Siladhriel chose her habitual mourning gray.

They went into the mountain dressed as such; the girls looked of the race of men, but it was rare for the elf bodied to come into Erebor and the three of them were so fair that many glances were cast to them as they entered the mountain. There was a kind of customs at the gate and Siladhriel asked where they might find Balin and the others she so desired to see. Balin was unreachable, but many of her company were still living in the mountain, including Dwalin and Bofur. They required introductions before she could simply barge into their living quarters, so she accepted and was announced outside Dwalin’s chambers.

“Lady Silwen and her daughters, Lady Miriel and Lady Baerandwen.”

She watched Dwalin struggle to recognize her, knowing that he knew her name but not her fair face. Bofur was there and openly squinting.

“I know. I look different.” She said. Dwalin’s broad face cracked into a smile as he recognized her voice and she crossed the chamber to embrace him and Bofur both. “Strong Dwalin. Kind Bofur. How I’ve missed you.” They laughed together and for a moment she was transported into her youth and lightheartedness.

“Silwen! A lady now, are you?” Bofur said, wiggling his eyebrows and puffing on his ever present pipe.

“Yes. These are my daughters, Baerandwen and Miriel.” She said, pulling the children in front of her so they could see the girls, who had shied behind their mother slightly. Dwalin’s sharp eyes recognized their father in them, knowing whose eyes Baerandwen clearly had.

“Impossible.” He said, reaching out a hand for each and taking the girl’s hands very delicately. They were taller than he, but he treated them as if they were made of glass. He looked up to Siladhriel. “Twins?” He asked. She nodded.

“They are Thorin’s daughters.” She said. “I’ve come of course for you-” she smiled at them, “But also for an audience with Dain.” The two dwarves looked sharply at her, as did the twins. The twins were concerned that they would be thrown in front of the kind with no preparation, and the dwarves were wary of the favor she might ask. She might be Lady Silwen, and their father might have been king, but her children were bastard halfbloods and had no claims. She knew what Dwalin and Bofur were thinking, sitting on a high cushion at Dwalin’s desk. “I ask for nothing but to introduce them and to be recognized. I am taking them back to Lothlorien with me, I don’t want them to stay. They are already have a place in the elvish court.”

Bofur and Dwalin exchanged looks. Unnoticed by the adults, Baerandwen looked disappointed. Miriel noticed, hiding her own more easily.

“Very well.” Said Dwalin.


	2. What's In A Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TLDR: The twins encounter racism

She allowed the girls out of her sight while she sat and took a tea with the remaining members of the company- a tea, here meaning a hearty midday meal at which there was also served an iced mint tea. Balin, Ori, and Nori were gone, having traveled to retake another lost dwarvish holding. Hearing this, Siladhriel was disappointed that they had not visited her in Lorien, as Moria was close enough to be considered on the way, but she realized that when she had left Erebor it had been in the night and they had likely not known where she had gone. It was her own fault after all. Gloin’s family had come to join him in the mountain and Bombur was now so fat that it took six young dwarfs to move him. They had their meal in his apartments. Gloin and Bifur were also settled in the mountain and were wildly successful, though nobody quite knew what they did for a living.

Over the years that had separated them Siladhriel had found herself grown cold in a deep place of her heart, but being with these friends sent a flicker of fire to warm the icy edges. It was a bittersweet thing, them without him.

“What of Bilbo?” She asked, to be greeted with great guffaws.

“Several years ago we received a letter from the Shire. The fellow has settled back down in Bag End, fabulously rich, and adopted a cousin as his heir!” Of course. Bilbo had always loved his comforts, it made sense that he would return to them. Siladhriel smiled into her mug of cold tea. And well deserved it was.

______________________________________________________________

As their mother took tea with her old companions, the twins wandered the halls around the apartments, taking in the natural beauty of the mountain and the great crafts that covered the walls of the corridors.

“I want to live here.” She said. Miriel smiled.

“Would not your love for Lady Arwen prevent that?” She asked. Baerandwen blushed a deep scarlet, clutching her chest, as it offended that her sister would broach such a private subject.

“I do not have eyes for Lady Arwen.” She denied. Then, her voice dropped to a mutter. “She is much too old for me.” Miriel was about to twist the knife, gently, but they came then upon an open air terrace where there was a group dwarfs playing midst the raised beds. The air was fresh and the sun hung high in the noon sky; the timbre of their voices and their lack of beards told them that these dwarves were young, children or teenagers. Walking amongst the fruits and flowers, Baerandwen’s skirts caught the foot of a dwarfling, who tripped and went sprawling. Knowing she was a stranger and could not be haughty, she bent and offered her hand. The young dwarf almost took it, but seeing her beauty and the the slight point to her ears that marked her apart from the race of man, he did not. Others rushed to his side, his kin helping him up.

“You’re a stranger.” he said, dusting himself off. “What’s an elf doing in the mountain?” He asked. He spat the word “elf”. Miriel heard this tone and came to stand with her sister.

“Oh, we are not elves. We are as dwarvish as you.” Said Baerandwen. The apparent youngest of the dwarves spoke up.

“If youre a dwarf, then I’m king Dain!” Laughter erupted from the group. Miriel could sense her sister getting upset. She put her hand on her arm but couldnt tear her away. The blonde bristled, her voice going up in pitch.

“My father was Thorin Oakenshield!”

This was greeted by more uproarious laughter, some of them tugging their own ears as if to lengthen them in a mockery of the twins. Obviously this seemed to them so bold of a funny lie. Miriel pulled at her hot blooded sister.

“Come, there is no reason to stay and be insulted.” She said. Her normally petal soft face had gone the color of sour milk. Baerandwen fought her.

“I am dwarven. I dont look it but I am. We are.”

“Elf! Mongrel elf!” came the chant.

Miriel more forcefully pulled at her twins arm, separating them from the jeering group.  
______________________________

They met again with their mother outside the throne chamber, out of breath. Distracted by the task ahead of her she assumed that they had run to avoid being late, taking little more than a moment to make sure their hair was smooth and their appearance fit for an audience with the king.

They entered. There was Dain, enthroned and crowned with the crown tht Siladhriel had last seen upon Thorin’s brown. She felt a pang of what could be anger before she chastened herself. Thorin should be king, but Dain was no usurper. He was of legitimate lineage and had obviously done well rebuilding the city under the mountain and thus deserved her respect. She had restored her daughter’s homeland, but she had not stayed to rebuild it and could not speak on who or what should have happened. Dwalin, as the kings advisor, stood beside the throne and it was comforting to see her old friend. She approached smoothly with her daughters trailing behind her. Halting an appropriate distance from the throne she stood tall, projecting her voice through the chamber.

“King Dain. I was Thorin Oakenshield’s companion in the regaining of this great city and fought alongside your noble people in the meeting of the five armies. I come before you a friend and entreat your favor.”

On either side of her, the twins held their breath. All was still in the chamber. Dwalin watched his king out of the corner of his eye. Dain shifted, and then finally spoke  
  
“So this is the widow.”

Siladhriel released the breath she didnt know she had been holding. He recognized her as Thorin’s widow, rather than an attempted usurper, which would make this whole thing easier. One of the dwarves must have counciled him on her presence before she had come. She still wore the courting braids and beads in her silver hair that marked her as loved by one in the house of Durin. Those she would not give up, though it had been many long years since he had given them to her.

It was with surprise that she heard the sniffle come from her left. Miriel had begun crying softly. All in the room seemed baffled. Dain called her forward.

“Why do you weep, little coin?” He asked. Miriel, knowing she would be a head taller that he should he come down from his great throne, hiccupped a little laugh out, but did not raise her head.

“They called us ‘mongrels’. My sister and I.” she said. Siladhriel looked sharply to Baerandwen to confirm this. Baerandwen didnt meet her eyes, instead very interested in the reflective floor. Dain made a noise into his impressive beard, stroking it before calling her closer.

“You too.” He said, gesturing to her sister. Baerandwen came forward with her twin and they halted within reaching distance of the throne. Dain cupped Miriel’s chin and lifted her pretty face, inspecting it.

“You have your father’s look about you.” He said. “Come, stop crying. I can’t stand a dam’s tears.” He said. Sniffling, she wiped her face with her embroidered sleeves, patches of pink high in her cheeks from crying. “Hold out your hand, each of you.” They did and he deposited small secret in each of their palms, two dwarvish coins. “These are not to spend, but to keep as a memory.” Looking closely at hers, Baerandwen saw that the likeness of their father was graven upon them. She clenched hers tightly, bowing her head in thanks and so he could not see the beginnings of her own tears.

Siladhriel saw her chance. Uncharacteristically, she went down on one knee- Dwalin looked surprised at this show of respect for a king that she had not meant to put on the throne.

“King Dain, I appreciate your kindness towards my children, but I come all the way from Lorien for a reason; with a request, as one who helped regain your kingdom; that my daughters may carry the name of their father.” She said, though she thought the question not bold; it was not their right in the dwarvish tradition, as daughters, but she wanted it for them. Dain gave her a long, hard stare. Then as suddenly as a bird breaking into song, he broke into uproarious laughter. “I do not think it injudicious of a request; I forfited my claim upon my share of the mountain’s treasure, so I ask for this now.”

“I hear the dragon Siladhriel would have taken the whole hoard if not for her loyalty to Thorin Oakenshield. Is this true?” Her face darkened. “Yes, I know of you.” he said. “The men of dale speak to this day of the two dragons who wrought laketown in flames. I know of what blood these daughters carry. Truly they are not fully dwarven.”

Baerandwen looked back to her mother, her face twisting. Seeing this, Siladhriel swiftly stood, coming to her offspring’s defense. Pulling aside the collar of her soft dress, she exposed the edges of the ugly scars upon her neck and shoulder where Smaug had cruelly grasped her.

“You sit upon a throne won also with my blood. I ask not for them to be heirs in court, but for them to be recognized as legitimate blood of Durin in middle earth. They may share my blood, but are also Thorin’s daughters through and through.”

Dain did not like being reminded of owing his throne to anyone, but Dwalin stepped in before he could bristle too largely, whispering in the kings ear. He whispered back. Dwalin whispered once more. He calmed, sitting back in his throne.

“I can grant them the title of Oakenshield, like their father before them. But no more. I cannot win them the love of my people. What dwarvish blood they have, they will have to fight for their entire lives, however long it is you live.”

This, Siladhriel would take.


End file.
